Show me the way to the next whiskey bar

[Heath morte dre Soul]

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Another day faded into black, and the morte dre Soul male found himself stalking the small streets of Halifax once again. He had wandered most of the main roads, noticing the difference in the more historical districts and the ones that must have been more modern for the human builders. To his disdain he took all the details in, making a map within his mind of every street, nameless or marked with a small narrow sign. But Heath found the small side roads, many unmarked, to much more intriguing. They held the things the humans wished to hide, and the places that brought them all their pleasure and guilt. It was there that he found the thick windowless door with a small sign hanging above it. Burnt out neon signs stood in the cracked and broken windows, forming names that Heath could not read but figures that he certainly knew. The form of a bottle, the outline of a lounging woman. Both made his heart skip a beat, and he couldn't tell which made him more aroused. The thick wooden door creaked as he pulled the handle, leading with the dark right paw he wore. His nose found what he wanted, along with a few other interesting things, while gold eyes adjusted to the moonless dark. The dive was small, nothing that many would call a fine night out but Heath found it homey and comfortable. He let the door close behind him, and he walked quickly to the bar. Heath almost didn’t notice the male as he reached over the wore wooden bar to search for his drink of choice. That had been the scent that lingered in the still air. Heath watched him, still not close enough to see him perfectly in the darkness but he was certain who stood before him. What the hell are you doing here? The words were completely curious, and even filled with humor. Watching Haven, the tawny lean youth noticed the bottle. What the?

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